Category: Thoughts on objects (Page 3 of 4)

White noise is a random signal that is equally powerful across different frequencies, giving it constant power spectral density.

Wow, let’s unpack this. Like the fireball that is looming over us, dangerous for humankind but nonetheless beloved by many, such as myself, white noise is terrifying and soothing at the same time.

When people ask me, why do I like this noise, which many don’t know is actually white, I try to answer them with a similar question: why is it that as soon as the sun comes out, when look up at it, even though it destroys our skin cells and even has the power to make us blind?

Is it the power that fascinates us? Is it, just like the white noise, the force of “constant power spectral density”? It even sounds cool, doesn’t it?

“Hey, what have you been up to these last few evenings?”

“Oh you know, just listening to the sound of constant power spectral density.”

“Wow!”

There you have it. Well, it really depends how much you give on other peoples opinion. But if that is something that drives you, you can end the conversation right there and be the coolest kid on the block.

But let’s dig further than that. So white noise, the sun. What else is seemingly infinite, soothing and dangerous, powerful and yet, comforting? It’s the force of nature. We love the oceans, even though we neglect them quite frequently. Why is the earth called earth, even though we just sit on a few pieces of it that are surrounded and dominated by water? Why is a mountain majestic? Why is thunder magnificent? Why can’t we control the things around us? And why, the more we try to do it, they show us that we are not really the rulers of this ground?

White noise, maybe you are the compressed form of force that cannot be ruled. The longer I listen, the more I accept it.

I heard that it is good for babies. I can see why: born without aspiration, prejudice or entitlement. The force of nature is accepted, tolerated and respected.

Its time to go back to our humble beginnings. Respect the power and force. Respect constant power spectral density.

Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy the sound of the blow dryer, my form of respect, white noise. Trying to become more humble.

I am soaking for you. Me and all my friends, we are prepared to take whatever comes our way. Waiting here in this holder, packed together. Some of us have dents, some of us get ripped apart. We get fiddled with, thrown around, folded and put under tables to make them stop wobbling.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

I am full of excess beer, full of regret and bitterness. But it doesn’t overcome me for I am longing for that sweet Union.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

We like being put together in packs, but do you even know why? Probably not, because you are a human. We like the closeness. You thought it was convenient for you that way? Tidy on the table! What about us? What about our desire, the Union that I speak of? It is not with other coasters, it is the love triangle we endure all this pain for.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

The sturdiness, the soft pressure, me in between. Soaked by beer but lucky to be adored from each side. The Union, that is the situation you are looking forward to, as well! After your beer is drafted, I am being put on my old lover I can relay on, the table. Together with the glass we form an expression of aesthetic pleasure, tidiness, comfort.

However, you were adoring the beer, neglecting the love in between, as humans do.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

I am sorry coaster

Some say they were meant to be together. They met shortly after they were put together in the plastic bag. Exchanging looks, separated by their fellows. How can someone feel so distant and still familiar?

They shared the same destiny, as it is mostly the case when you land in this kind of packaging. Most of them will end up forming the outer sides of a nourishing mini-meal for they were slices or toast.

He was on one side of that artificially formed loaf, she was stuck on the other. As it is mostly the case with slices stuck together, everyone is craving some personal space. And often, the other side looks more comfortable.

The grass is always greener on the other side. So it goes.

They weren’t interested in personal space for it was useless when separated. One day, their package got bought. Excitedly, most slices were discussing how they might end up. What kind of sandwich will they be? With meat? With cheese? A vegetarian one? Or as the holy grail, a French Toast! Well you see, toast slices are not really looking for anything special, they are not even a proper bread. But one thing they really want is for sure. To be spread with butter. Not any fake butter or margarine. Proper full fat butter.

Is the grass really greener on the other side? If it is spread with butter, yes. So it goes.

2 weeks went by and they had lost all hope by then that they would be united as a sandwich. Only little did they know that their new owner was especially fond of the end pieces. So as their day came, the whole package was opened and they were the first to be used in the sandwich making process.

No French toast, they said. But still, they were happy. Finally, being united, forming the union of a sandwich. She was picked up first. Ready to be baptised with the foundation, the bond of all sandwiches, butter. As soon as the knife touched her, she felt that it wasn’t what she was expecting. It was margarine. Disturbed she laid back onto the table.

We can make it work, he said to her. It is only important what we make of it. She couldn’t live with it. Weeks of waiting, longing to become something greater than just a slice of bread, only to be spread with margarine. He tried to talk to her but her mind was shut.

As soon as she got picked up to be put together with her lover, she leapt forward towards the ground.

If I waited forever to see the light, only in the last minuted to be denied. I am leaping forward for

The grass is always greener

after suicide.

I am stability. Ever wondered what walking on a rope between two buildings feels like? Ever wondered how it feels to look into the eternal abyss? Did you ever have the feeling that just hanging around is your sole purpose in life? You didn’t? I do.

Over the decades, my style, my sole purpose has been challenged. But I transcend style and history. I am not loved, not even adored. Still, I support you. I am walking the earth with you, catching the dirt on the way. Do you ever wash me? No. Do I complain about the sacrifice I make for you? No.

I am stability.

I see how you are looking up to me right now, maybe with curiosity, maybe intrigued why I am hanging here. Well you see, this is my grave. Doomed until the cable repair man comes and cuts these sneakers off. Well, rather cuts me. For I am a shoelace that hold to sneakers over a cable in the middle of a crossway. Until then

I am stability.